I own a lot of shitty furniture. A 30 dollar couch I acquired two years ago which had been attacked my its previous owner's kitty, my parents 1970's kitchen table, a rubbermaid-drawer-turned-bedside table. Most people would shed these pieces without a sniff, and yet the idea of starting over in a new city AND starting over with new furniture is too much for me. Forget it! I know my limits.
I'm about to encounter a lot of change - change I'm excited about and ready for, but change nonetheless. I am leaving with no partner in crime, no friend waiting for my arrival. This northern fish is going to be swimming in a southern sea. I've taken to muttering mantras to myself in odd places to help me calm down about all of this - in the shower, in the car, when I'm waiting in line for my dry cleaning - I am capable of change. This will not always suck. I am moving to a city which serves a lot of guacamole.
I think people, in general, tend to be too hard on themselves. And I am not going to hard on myself for being a total basketcase these past few weeks. We all go a little crazy now and then, after all. Then we turn a corner, and poof, we return to normalcy. Today's joie de vivre is the people who hold your hand in times of change. The ones who listen to you, despite you being a one-note pony. The friends who offer to come with you to Austin to help you unload the van and welcome you to the city. The family who accepts your endless phone calls about moving options.
I do not seek out change, this is true. I would rather drag a sub par couch on a 13-hour trek than have to find a new one. But I'm proud to say that when change comes my way, I arm myself with loved ones to help cushion the blow. So thanks, friends, for producing some mighty fine padding. It does not go unnoticed.
ha! guacamole...
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